


BDX

by plothound



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ass Inflation, Body Modification, Breast Inflation, Dubious Consent, Dubious Science, Fantasizing, For Science!, Implied/Referenced Forced Prostitution, Inflation, Medical, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Muscle Growth, Needles, Other, Prostitution, Science Fiction, Sexual Fantasy, Transformation, expansion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-12-25 21:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18269489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plothound/pseuds/plothound
Summary: In a dystopian near future, a sexual health clinic stays open by providing cosmetic services to its clients, including the application of highly questionable growth drugs.





	1. Chapter 1

Howe gave the operating cradle another quick spray of antiseptic. There wasn’t much of an infection risk associated with BDX injections, but contrary to popular belief, he had in fact gone to medical school, and he didn’t intend to let things slide more than the budget demanded. He did occasionally wonder how he’d ended up here, but for his own well-being, he kept that line of thought to a bare minimum. It paid, which was the important thing, and there were… perks, the BDX injections being one of them. It wasn’t all treating venereal diseases and sexual injuries at the clinic, after all. That sort of work wouldn’t keep the place in business long. No, the money was made in cosmetic medicine.

 

The client turned up a few minutes early. Howe liked that in a client. If all went well, he’d have some free time before the next appointment. He usually needed it after injections.

 

He went through the questionnaire. In a better world, this would be a nurse’s job, or, hell, a receptionist’s, but the clinic didn’t have the funds to spare nurses for that sort of thing when the presiding doctor could do it just as well, without the bother of needing to borrow someone’s access code for the patient record systems. It was obvious to him what the client’s situation was. People coming in for BDX injections usually fell into one of three categories: stupid rich kids who could afford to have it reversed if they decided they didn’t like it, deviants who’d worked hard to be able to pay for it, and people who were being paid to do it, usually for sexual reasons. The client was in the last category. She was far too poor to be able to afford the procedure, and she wasn’t registered as a sex worker but listed her occupation as “escort”, which meant that she was owned by one of the illegal private systems instead of the union. Her pimp had obviously decided that the business needed a certain kind of attraction.

 

When he’d finished the medical questionnaire, Howe leaned in a little. “You’re sure about this? It’s very expensive to reverse, and some people never entirely shake off the effects.”

 

She gave him a small smile. She was very pretty, really, this Anita Ross, with thick, dark hair, full lips, and sad eyes. “I’m sure.”

 

“All right,” he said, finalizing the questionnaire in the systems with a lengthy access code. “If you could remove your clothing, please.” She did, setting the pile of flimsy synthetic garments on the chair, and he noted that she had already had a procedure to enlarge her breasts—he could see the fingernail-sized square of the surgeon’s tattooed signature on her ribs, easily scanned if an admirer wanted to book the same surgeon—and that she had a relatively recent scar from a chemical burn that sprawled over her right side, onto one breast. The main mass of scar ended just below her hip, but there were small round patches of scar tissue from splatter that continued down her leg. She was a reject, then. If BDX injections fell out of favor, and they were already quite niche, her pimp could simply discard her instead of paying to have it reversed.

 

He helped her into the operating cradle. It was well padded, adjustable, and protected with a sheet of vinyl that made cleanup relatively easy. And it was sturdy. That was the important thing. 

 

The solution was already loaded into the syringes that protruded from the cradle’s overhanging arm. It was just a matter of swabbing the injection sites and hooking up the long, flexible tubing. A needle went in at each forearm, and then one in the middle of each thigh, and then one in each shoulder. Howe taped them down carefully. The needles were less than an inch long—the BDX couldn’t be injected too deep—and they had to be well-secured, like everything else, including the client.

 

“Ms. Ross, are you ready for the restraints?” He showed them to her. They weren’t too intimidating, just soft, padded bands that connected to the cradle, but he saw a flash of fear in her eyes.

 

“They’re definitely necessary?” she asked softly.

 

“Yes,” Howe said. “Some people react more violently than others, but everyone finds it very difficult to control themselves during and immediately after the injections.” He frowned in sympathy. He could only imagine what might have happened to her to bring on that apprehension. “I’m sorry, but it’s required.”

 

She nodded, eyes downcast, and he secured the bands as gently as he could around her wrists and ankles, making sure to leave plenty of wiggle room. “Thank you,” he said. “If you’re ready, I’m going to seal you in now.”

 

Anita glanced up at the syringes, eyeing the electric-blue BDX that was poised to bond to her tissues. “Okay.”

 

Howe tapped the relevant codes into the operating cradle’s interface, and the cradle’s thick, clear shield extruded from the ends of the cradle to meet in the middle, sealing Anita beneath a transparent cylinder. He carefully adjusted the cradle’s climate control, making sure the ventilation was set to accommodate the client’s needs, and confirmed that the seal was intact. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she said, and it was with a little frown.

 

“The shield’s conductive,” he explained. “I can hear you just as well with it as I could without it. You’ll be fine in there. I’ll be monitoring everything closely from the station, it’s just over there.” He pointed to the array of monitors set up in the corner of the cramped operating room, oriented so that he could peer over them and see her without the aid of the cradle’s cameras. “You’ll never be in the slightest danger. I promise.”

 

She nodded, and he gave her a reassuring smile before he retreated to the station. He verified that all the cameras were in working order, the safety systems ready to kick in at the slightest danger, and prepared the operation. After a final check, he sat up a little so that Anita could see him over the monitors. “I’m going to start the procedure now, okay?”

 

She nodded again.

 

“Verbal confirmation, please, I need it for the records.”

 

“I’m ready.”

 

“Great,” Howe said. “You’re going to feel some heat and pressure.” He initiated the operation. The plungers in the BDX syringes began to depress, and he sat back. It was going to take a while, and he was already half-hard.

 

He wasn’t sure exactly where BDX had come from. He’d heard rumors that it had originally been designed by the military as a performance enhancement, but it hadn’t worked quite right. Howe wasn’t certain he believed that, but he did believe that BDX’s original purpose wasn’t cosmetic. No, definitely not, no matter how luscious the results. Anything that hit glycogen storage that hard was meant to do more, and anyway, BDX’s marketing had come out of the blue. Howe certainly hadn’t heard anything about a miracle growth drug until it had been released, and he worked in a sexual health clinic. 

 

Anita was shifting uncomfortably in the cradle. Injections were always a little unpleasant, and BDX was pretty viscous. It moved slow, which was one of the many, many reasons that it needed close supervision. If something went wrong, if the needle bevels weren’t oriented properly or there was an abnormality in the client’s blood vessels or whatever, the BDX could start forming pockets, and that could get very nasty very quickly. 

 

These seemed to be going smoothly, though. The isotope tracking dye in the BDX was lighting up on one of Howe’s monitors, and it showed a near-textbook spread. It passed through the blood vessels first, of course, the heart pumping it rapidly along. Arteries and veins bulged out as the BDX’s regenerative properties bulked them up. More vascularity meant more fuel for the rest of BDX’s work, which was a ways behind the bloodstream process.

 

The main volume of the BDX was spreading rather differently, in a way that, as far as Howe knew, no other substance replicated. Its unique ability to push through and along tissue meant that it wasn’t following blood vessels. Instead, it diffused like spilled paint along body tissues, just beneath the skin, soaking through the fat layer in places to infuse the muscle. He’d be able to see it soon.

 

There went her veins, anyway. Anita was biting her lip, and as Howe watched, veins began to swell into prominence, spreading from the injection sites like so many roots. The process always looked inhuman at this stage, like someone had sucked all of the water weight out of the body, but the rest would catch up later. For now, the veins running along and across Anita’s lovely, thin little body were standing out furiously like a bodybuilder’s. A few years ago, Howe might have found the sight odd, unsightly even, but now it just signalled more to come, and it filled him with anticipation.

 

Oh, God, there. He could see it. Her triceps were definitely more prominent than they had been, and there was a little bit of a thickening to her biceps as well. Further down, her quadriceps were taking on a definite curve, pushing out above her knee. He resisted the urge to slide a hand beneath the desk. Later. 

 

It was harder to keep track of the progress on her back, but it was starting to creep around her sides from the injection sites on her shoulder blades. Oh, there, there, her laterals were starting to protrude. It was just muscles for now, they responded better than fatty tissue, but she’d pad out soon, and he couldn’t wait.

 

Howe always played a few games with himself while administering BDX. The first was deciding what his favorite part was. Today, he was most looking forward to… not the tits, the BDX probably wouldn’t react too well with whatever enhancement the surgeon had used. Ass? Possible, possible. Anita didn’t have much of an ass at the moment, but current proportions didn’t always correspond to BDX proportions. He tried to imagine her with a magnificent ass, rounded and squeezable, and thought that the image was pleasing. But her cunt… oh, that got him going. 

 

Her pussy, shaved as per clinic request, was the sort of picture-perfect one you only saw in porn. Everything was tucked neatly away, nothing visible between her outer lips. Yeah, he wanted that to change. He wanted her outer lips to—no, he wanted it to start with the inner lips, so they’d protrude out from that perfect little pussy, bulging out in puffy, shiny folds that would smooth out as the BDX increased concentration. Then the outer lips could get going, growing soft and squishy and gorgeous, framing her cunt beautifully. When her vaginal walls swelled, oh, God, she’d soak the cradle, squeezing her slick out like icing out of a tube. And her clit… maybe she’d be one of those women whose clit reacted hugely. There weren’t a lot of them, but when they came up, Howe never forgot them. Yeah, that’d look good on her.

 

The BDX had spread to her ass. It was difficult to get a feel for exactly what it would look like while she was lying in the cradle like that, but Howe watched her hips slowly rise, pushed up by the swelling beneath. It was starting to affect the fat layer at the injection sites, softening the appearance of her veins and somehow distributing itself to exaggerate the changed muscles rather than concealing them. That was a trick of BDX that Howe didn’t understand, but that signature exaggerated look always got him hot.

 

The injections from her shoulder blades had reached her chest. Her pectorals came first, bulging and shifting beneath the skin. The growth shifted the angle of her breasts, making them jut outward a little more. Her nipples were hard, and her mouth was a little open, with a flush creeping over her body. Yeah, she liked it. Everybody liked it. It was supposed to be a euphoric experience. Howe was sometimes almost tempted to try it himself, skim just a little BDX from a vial, see how it felt, but that would be stupid, very stupid. Men were discouraged from using it in the first place, and the ones that Howe had administered injections to had all developed small, perky breasts in addition to the expected musculature and curves, and one had formed a small orifice, like a shallow wound, behind his balls, which Howe had had to seal up. No, not for him.

 

On Anita, though… oh, he’d been wrong about the tits, they were gorgeous. Whatever the surgeon had used to enlarge them previously was taking the BDX quite as well as her own tissues, maybe better. Her skin struggled to keep up with the growth as her breasts swelled taut and heavy. They didn’t look obscene now, lying flat on her chest, but when she stood up or bent over, oh, fuck, it’d be obvious, they’d sit huge and round, overfilling a bra if she deigned to wear one, and, any moment now… 

 

It hit her nipples, and he couldn’t stop himself from parting his lips. He did manage to stop himself from moaning, but it was a near thing. Oh, fuck, look at them. They swelled up fat and dark, protruding like sweet suckable corks that Howe wanted desperately to take into his mouth. Oh, there wouldn’t be any hiding those. Maybe soft they could be concealed behind a thickly padded bra that would make her tits seem even larger, but once they got hard, once it was chilly out or someone hot walked by or she thought about the last time someone fucked her, there they’d be, constant reminders of sex. 

 

Howe thought about Anita in a well-tailored suit—he very much liked women in suits—maybe at the head of a board meeting for some expensive company. She wasn’t shy and quiet in his fantasy, no, she’d be all business, dishing out orders and tongue-lashing unruly department heads, and then someone would crank up the air conditioning. She wouldn’t notice at first, she’d keep going, gesturing vividly. It would drag on and on until she finally noticed the furtive glances at her chest, and she’d look down and see her nipples standing out there, as if she were wearing an undershirt rather than a suit. They’d be clear as day, but would she acknowledge them or not? That was a good question. Howe wasn’t sure whether he preferred the idea of her taking it in stride and simply continuing the meeting while her underlings tried not to fantasize about their boss’s tits and failed miserably, or of her flushing and excusing herself to her private bathroom, where she’d have to sate her lust before returning, everybody knowing full well what she was doing.

 

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He was all right, now. Anita’s eyes were shut tight, and she was trembling. She wouldn’t be listening to anything he said. Still, he’d do his best to keep it to himself, however absolutely fucking stunning she was looking. Her chest was heaving as she panted softly, fingers nervously clenching and unclenching, toes wiggling.

 

Her hips were next. The curve above her pelvis bulged out with muscle first, and then padded itself further with a softer layer of fat, forming one of the most magnificently exaggerated set of love handles he’d ever seen. Her obliques swelled further as he watched, matching her ass beautifully. God, there was so much to grab onto back there, and it was mostly muscle. Ugh, she could sit on top of him, a knee on either side of his thighs, heavy and powerful, and if she squeezed, she’d fucking  _ ripple _ . God, he’d probably come right then.

 

Her legs had lengthened a little. Gaining an inch, an inch and a half, after BDX injections wasn’t uncommon, but it also wasn’t uncommon to stay the same height. He was glad Anita was growing. And what legs they were. Thick, muscular, smooth, magnificent. She had great skin apart from that chemical burn, too. He’d kiss her thighs if he could, run his tongue along the insides, up and down the back, suck gently on that bulge above the knee on the inside, run his hands over them and marvel at their size and strength. 

 

And her arms were looking just as good, thick with muscle, her hands a little larger than they had been to match. Oh, she could fuck him up with those. He wondered what her fingers would feel like in his ass. Or, fuck, her fist. He hadn’t taken anything bigger than two fingers, but in his fantasy, she’d be in him halfway to the elbow, powerful hand clenching and unclenching inside of him, and he’d be writhing helplessly on the conference table as he felt her forearm flex inside of him. Would there be people watching? No, he decided, not then. It’d be just him, who she’d asked to stay behind after the meeting, she had something to discuss, and he’d be embarrassed because he’d think it was about how he couldn’t stop staring at her hard nipples, and then she’d shove him down on the table and bare his ass, telling him how badly she needed relief before she fucked right into him… 

 

She whined, and he snapped back to reality just in time to see her mound begin to swell. Oh, fuck yeah. Earlier he hadn’t been entirely sure that this would be his favorite part for her, but now his cock was telling him loudly that it was. He was so fucking hard.

 

Not as hard as she was, though. Her clit was about average, but it looked about to burst, the way it was straining against the hood. The cradle was shiny with her between her legs. Howe watched, barely breathing, as the whole of her vulva gently pouted out, hot and round and obscene. It was still growing when the first of her inner lips began to protrude, slipping out from between the outer ones. As it swelled, its many delicate folds smoothing out, growing soft and shiny, he imagined that he could see the growing pressure of the other one, building up inside, fuller and wetter and wider, until— 

 

The second lip slipped free, looking like a thick petal unfurling, and Howe felt himself twitch, hard. She was still growing there. Her mound was a full handful now, at least, something that could be gripped and squeezed and cupped, and he wanted badly to do it. Or… the clinic did temporary pumping for a minor fee, and yeah, he’d love to fit the smooth, soft cup of a pussy pump over that already-swollen mound, it’d have to be the largest size they carried, and he’d pump just enough to get it to stick, and then he’d hold a vibrator to it, and oh, she’d writhe and wail and fill the cup with her slick, clit twitching desperately as she begged him to touch it.

 

The hood of her clit thickened and furled, growing loose and wet until it hid that beautiful little bud entirely, and he squeezed himself, mouth open in a silent moan. Any second now… 

 

Her clit protruded from beneath the hood again, a wet pink nub. It broadened slowly, but didn’t come out any further. Ah, but behind that, the loose folds of the hood were tightening, stretching, stretching, bulging out until it looked like someone had shoved a golf ball in there, the opening of the hood keeping the exposed part of her clit firmly down against her vulva, until suddenly it didn’t.

 

The hood loosened its grip, and Anita’s clit slid forth like an unsheathing cock. A short little cock, sure, but a huge, fat, throbbing clit. It stood proudly erect, pointing nearly at the ceiling, protruding maybe an inch beyond the hood, and easily that wide across. Howe wanted desperately to take it into his mouth. It looked  _ ripe,  _ all taut and swollen and furiously, furiously sensitive, like… like a fucking strawberry or something, and he’d seal his lips around it and write on it with his tongue, toying with the stretched, straining hood, her sopping excess dripping down his chin.

 

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and nearly whined when her pussy suddenly convulsed, the whole mass of flesh tensing and relaxing, clenching hard around nothing, clit visibly pulsing, the vinyl sheet over the cradle puddled with slick. Her mound throbbed out with one last spurt of growth, one that was echoed across her entire body as the BDX settled hard into her tissues, and she gasped as her body tensed up, and then she came, squirting like a heavenly fountain one, two, three, four,  _ five,  _ six, _ seven  _ times, splattering the shield and cradle while her newly swollen muscles fought against the restraints.

 

Howe waited a minute or so, more for his sake than hers. His cock wasn’t going to go down anytime soon, but he could return his face to its normal professional composure, anyway. Anita lolled in the cradle, her sculptural body sagging, breathing hard.

 

He adjusted himself, pulling up and pinning his length up behind the waistband of his underwear. It’d be a little less obvious that way, anyway. Then he got up, came over to the cradle, and withdrew the shield and restraints.

 

She tottered unsteadily when he got her to a standing position, despite the support of powerful legs, so he helped her into the room’s dedicated shower. She was as tall as he was, now, and probably weighed more. He’d record her biometrics in full once she had recovered a little. “Five minutes,” he said gently as he showed her the controls. “I’ll get you some clothes.”

 

She leaned against the synthetic-tiled wall for support and turned on the water, and he took a moment to appreciate how it ran over her broad, muscular back, down her heavy breasts, and across the magnificent swell of her ass, before he quietly slipped out to the clinic’s supply room.


	2. Research and Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick trip back in time to BDX's origins and its first test subject.

Every time Stolter thought she’d gotten used to working for the military, it smacked her across the face with something new. At first, when she’d been a regular researcher, fresh out of her first job at a Gene-Nu facility and desperate for any kind of employment, it’d been the medicines that had scared her.  _ Medicine.  _ Funny word for something that was effectively a targeted poison, designed to eradicate any and all contaminants. She’d done her best to explain that complex organisms depended on a vast web of simple organisms in their own bodies, but the orders kept coming, and she wasn’t in a position to refuse. So she cooked something up, ran some trials on mice, and sent the fatal results to her supervisor—she’d never met him—hoping that would be the end of that. Well, it hadn’t, perhaps predictably. It’d been toxins next, adapting her little chemistry experiment into a toxin that rapidly morphed from causing an increased incidence of digestive issues to complete digestive shutdown.

 

Thankfully, that one had petered out, but there was always something new to replace the last horrible thing she was being paid to cook up. She didn’t like it, not at all, but what was she going to do? There were always rumors about researchers who quit being found dead later, and the ones who lived never got another job and often had to come crawling back to military research and development. Toxin after toxin, experimental treatment after experimental treatment, expanding into fields Stolter had never wanted to explore.

 

And this one still surprised the hell out of her. Her research priority was now to develop and explore a new type of steroid that didn’t come with a whole host of physical and psychiatric problems. … _ increase the development of musculature, including cardiac muscle; increase lung capacity; increase reflexes; permanent performance enhancement; increase pain tolerance…  _ They wanted a superhero serum, basically. Like in comics. 

 

Did they have any idea how many years she’d spent in medical school? How many thousands of dollars she was in debt for the privilege? She had  _ two  _ PhDs and a masters, for God’s sake, and they threw this at her. Some fucking army guy getting his rocks off about supersoldiers, big buff white guys with a normal psychological profile… 

 

She stewed about it for a good hour before she finally sat down and starting messing around with the sequencer.

 

At first, she aimed for increasing glycogen storage capacity. That would increase the reserves that the body could draw on during periods of rest, make muscle development faster. Not bad, not bad—okay,  _ no,  _ that would end in liver failure, couldn’t process the glycogen fast enough. Unless, of course, the liver was also improved; maybe a localized bump in the metabolic rate? Possible. It would probably cause a whole host of digestive issues, though. All right, she’d come back to that.

 

The cardiac muscle was going to be tricky. Make the changes too hard, too fast, and function would be impeded rather than improved. Increased cardiac capacity would have to come with increased blood vessel capacity, of course, and that was going to be complicated as well. She couldn’t just aim for stimulating growth—that would more than likely cause the walls of the blood vessels to thicken, which would be hideously dangerous. No, that wouldn’t do. The only proper way to ensure that the vessels grew in the directions she wanted them to would be mechanical, directing them physically, which was, of course, impossible. That would be the most ambitious surgical operation in human history by a wide margin. Nanobots? No, they didn’t operate well in blood vessels, too easily knocked out of place, and if any of them failed, they could cause blockages.

 

The circulatory system was essentially hydraulic. How did you expand tubing? You didn’t, really, you wanted it to stay the same size for a consistent pressure. Pressure… that was an interesting thought. You could expand a tube by applying pressure from the inside via liquid. Introduce more pressure to the system. 

 

Hm.

 

There was no good way to add more fluid to the system. Blood was finicky. Besides, it would need to be removed afterward. No, that wouldn’t do. But of course, there was already fluid in the system, and pressure could be increased in any fluid system with a pump. The heart was the best pump in existence. Stimulate the heart, and there would be an increase in pressure. 

 

That could work, Stolter realized in some surprise. That could work.

 

Well, that was cardiac function. Muscle was still going to be difficult. If glycogen storage wasn’t going to work out by itself, she would have to take a different approach. The primary method of muscle growth was, of course, damage and reinforcement. That was how bodybuilders did it. Exercise, damaging the muscle, and force it to grow back with reinforcements, larger and stronger. Muscle damage could probably be inflicted well enough with a current of the right strength. Some people did use electrotherapy for muscle development. She’d have to improve on it, of course. The pain from muscle damage would stimulate the heart, too. Two birds, one stone. Now, repairing the muscle afterward… high-grade fleshknit, maybe, with added stimulant to speed up the process. Applied liberally enough, it might increase bone density, too. That would make her supervisor happy. The damage and repair would have to alternate quickly and repeatedly to gain the results that nutcase wanted, which was doable. Taxing, but doable.

 

Surgically improving reflexes, of course, was not going to work, at least not at the same time as the muscle stuff. That was more of a brain thing than anything else, and Stolter, as a general rule, did not mess with brains. That was Hanson’s area, down the hall. She’d swing this by him later. In the meantime, she could start sequencing something.

  
  
  
  


The first trials ended very badly. The mice simply died of the shock and stress. The pain from the damage and the sudden increase in blood pressure were too much for them. Stolter frowned sadly at them before gently placing their little bodies in a specimen disposal bin. With the second trial, she added painkillers to the mix and used adrenalin on the heart instead. She shaved a mouse in preparation before giving it the injection, and watched in awe as its body grew. It took a few minutes, but a perfectly ordinary mouse developed incredible musculature, and it seemed energetic and enthusiastic enough. Stolter rigged up a few simple tests for it, pushing heavy objects, and its performance improvement was absolutely absurd. She’d created a super mouse. It was pushing a five-pound weight across the table when it suddenly keeled over and died. 

 

Eventually, she worked it out. The adrenalin was too much when combined with the other stresses of the serum. That meant that the heart had to be stimulated in some other way, and if pain and stress were both too much, it would have to be pleasure. The thought made Stolter a little queasy, but it would be much less hard on the subjects, physically and mentally. 

 

Actually, even less hard on the subjects than she’d initially thought, she realized. Hanson’s big thing a few months back had been an experimental nanobot-based painkiller that tracked neurotransmitter levels and attempted to invert how the brain received information, effectively turning pain to pleasure. Unfortunately for him, intense pleasure proved to be quite as physically crippling as intense pain, though not nearly as mentally damaging, so the military wasn’t interested. A soldier wracked by orgasms in the field wasn’t worth any more than a soldier wracked by agonizing pain from an injury. He’d still have all the data on it, though, and it would be invaluable for Stolter.

 

She had to bribe him with promises to buy good beans and creamer for the communal lab coffeemaker next month, but Hanson agreed to dig out the nanobot program and sequencer data for her, and it wasn’t long before Stolter was looking at a tube of electric blue fluid full of nanobots and her… ugh, fine, growth serum.

 

Mouse trials went well, though it was certainly a little disturbing to have to watch and take detailed notes on a mouse wriggling around in intense pleasure. Stolter gave the serum to ten mice, and a week later, she still had ten extremely tough and absurdly strong mice. They seemed to be largely unaffected socially and mentally, though sexual activity was heightened—Hanson’s nanobot thing obviously took a while to pass out of the system. Organ function was almost normal. Liver activity was a little high, working overtime to process all the extra glycogen, and that was definitely something to watch out for, but the cardiac system seemed to have been optimized dramatically. All in all, Stolter was very pleased with her work. An excellent start to a hopeless project.

 

Then a squad of military police picked her up and put her in an unmarked car with blacked-out windows. That wasn’t hugely unusual at the lab, but it was still extremely unnerving. Stolter knew enough to not bother asking what it was about, but she did fidget and sweat in the back seat between two buff guys with guns and concealed faces. They never said a word to her, not when they put her in the car, not when they took her out of it, and not when they marched her into a government building on the outskirts of town. By the time Stolter was sitting in a cramped conference room with the MPs standing guard, she was getting seriously nervous.

 

The guy who eventually came to see her was a pretty generic looking government type, a big clean-shaven older white guy along the lines of every higher-up she’d ever met, except for a missing ear. Military, then, she guessed. He didn’t sit down, just jerked his head toward the hallway. She followed him, and he started to talk.

 

“We’ve got you a test subject all lined up, Doctor,” he said as he strode down the hallway. She had to trot a little to keep up. “Good health, should be fine. You’ll have all the equipment you need, and a squad for protection, of course. The lab’s clean, secure, test subject’s expendable. Slated for dishonorable discharge.”

 

“Good?” Stolter hazarded. “I, uh… what am I testing, exactly?”

 

He gave her a puzzled look. “The serum. Your latest project.”

 

Stolter stopped dead.  _ “What?”  _

 

He stopped a few feet further down the hallway and looked back at her. “The brass likes your project. It’s been okayed for further testing. It’s obviously ready.”

 

“Not for  _ people!”  _ Stolter’s voice was somewhere between outrage and horror. “I hadn’t even heard of this project two weeks ago! Animal tests have been going for a week! It’s going to be months before we can even  _ think  _ about human trials, the dangers are—”

 

The guy snorted and kept walking, with a hand gesture that brooked no argument. “It works. That’s pretty obvious. And I told you, the subject’s expendable. Besides, your rats are fine, aren’t they?”

 

“Mice,” Stolter said automatically, walking again. “And they’re fine  _ now,  _ yeah, but who knows what they’ll be like tomorrow? I need way more time to figure out whether this stuff is safe in the long term for mice, and then  _ maybe  _ I can move on to primate testing. Human trials are a long ways in the future.”  

 

“If by a long ways you mean about ten minutes from now,” the guy said. “Relax, Doctor. If it doesn’t work, no one will ever know about it.”

 

Stolter wanted badly to protest, but she knew military finality when she heard it. Fucking army. Thousands of idiots, all paid to be as loud and violent and bullheaded as they could possibly be. There was no reasoning with any of them.

 

Still, she’d never had to do something like this. Only a few projects of hers had ever gone to human trials in the first place, and they’d been pretty benign—mostly variations on a theme of immunizations. This was different. This could kill someone, and it was far too soon. She didn’t  _ know  _ enough about it. Yeah, she’d designed it, but bodies were insanely complex, and there was no possible way to foresee even a quarter of the possible ramifications of changing anything. Would the liver shut down from overwork? Would increased mass be too much of a strain on the skeleton? Would the lungs be able to oxygenate the improved cardiac system? There was no way to know, not without more time.

 

Entirely too soon, she’d followed the guy with the missing ear down two flights of stairs, underground, and into a lab that had several expensive pieces of equipment but was otherwise pretty bare-bones. The suspension system that was the centerpiece was obviously high quality. It looked capable of supporting and restraining a big gorilla, but instead, it held a young woman, naked, toned, with a shaved head and body, and the telltale military swing to her. She made eye contact with Stolter as she walked in, but didn’t say anything. A squad of military police that could have been the same one as earlier or a different one waited in a corner.

 

Stolter gave the guy with the missing ear one last pleading look, but there was no sympathy in the hard face. She turned away from him and headed for the sample fridge, where she found a neat rack of serum. Her rack, actually—the tape wrapped around one leg of the rack said STOLT on it in black Sharpie. They’d taken it right out of her lab.

 

She did her best to estimate dosage, calculated by mass. She divided it up into four syringes, hoping to get a good even spread. She picked injection sites, one in each limb, and wiped them down with alcohol. Then, far too soon, she was standing next to the woman with four capped needles in hand, preparing to inject. “Sorry,” she whispered. The woman did not respond, and Stolter gave the injections in quick succession, one after the other, and backed away hastily.

 

Nothing happened for a time. The woman hung there, shifting awkwardly. The guy with the missing ear checked his watch. Stolter stood breathless, wondering if she was about to watch someone die. She probably wouldn’t be fired, the military obviously liked this project a lot, but if this woman died, she’d live with that forever. It was bad enough having mice on her conscience. Who knew what a human being would be like? She couldn’t look away.

 

She noticed the change in vascular definition first. Veins were spreading from the injection sites like so many roots, tracing their way up and down limbs, looking delicate at first, and then bulging like a bodybuilder’s. Or like veins swollen from a clot, which could kill easily. She reprimanded herself mentally and began taking notes. Speculation was unproductive at this point in the game.

 

Then Stolter saw it. It was just a soft bulge at first, like a light flex, but it was slowly becoming more prominent. The woman’s thighs were growing. Stolter stared at them for a while, watching quadriceps thicken and deepen, before she managed to drag her eyes away.

 

The woman was shifting. It looked uncomfortable at first glance, but knowing what she did, it was easy for Stolter to notice the sheen on the insides of the thighs, the flush on chest and throat, the erect nipples, the lips pressed together too hard. These details put the twitches and jerks of limbs and torso in a different light. The steady clenching and unclenching of the woman’s toes added to the impression of great suppressed pleasure.

 

Her arms had grown, too. A set of biceps like that would get her a fitness modeling contract easily, and the triceps were on course to match them soon. The bulge of the calf was like a bowl, round and hard. Her hips were a little broader than they’d been a minute ago, in more dimensions than one.

 

Stolter considered herself to be a fairly equal-opportunity bisexual, as likely to moon over a woman as a man, and while the jolt of warmth in her belly caught her by surprise, it made perfect sense in hindsight. The restrained woman was an ideal physical specimen, with piercing eyes and sculpted lips, a lean body that put Stolter’s lab-soft one to shame, and now she was developing an ass the likes of which Stolter had never seen in person. In pornography, yes, and even once in an ill-advised trip to a strip club, but never up close and personal like this, where a little tilt of the head sent the light catching the sweat that lay softly on each perfect globe, and the lightly pulsing growth made it more magnificent with each passing moment. Stolter felt a sudden and awful urge to step forward—to reach out and cup the woman’s ass, press her face into it, kiss its warm expanse—and violently shoved it back down where it had come from.

 

She tore her attention away from the woman’s glorious posterior and focused on the rest of her body. While she’d been occupied, the woman’s legs had developed impressively. Half-remembered names from early anatomy and physiology courses floated around in the back of Stolter’s head. Sartorius swooping gracefully over rectus femoris, which bunched up next to vastus medialis, which was opposite the vastus lateralis, all swollen-powerful, all standing out hard against the skin, all  _ rippling  _ as Stolter watched. She thought the movement was clenching at first, but then the woman really did clench, muscles jumping and flexing hugely, and she realized that the rippling was from the steadily pulsing growth that was still flowing through the woman’s body. The warmth in her belly was constant now, no longer content to only make itself known occasionally. 

 

The woman moaned for the first time, low and deep and throaty, and suddenly that warmth flared up into furious heat.  _ Oh, God.  _ Stolter had to work hard to keep her thighs from squeezing together, and tried to focus on her notes.  _ Muscular development proceeding as anticipated, subtle changes in bone structure appear to be broadening the frame, possible reaction to— _

 

The woman moaned again, a little higher and harsher, less languid. Stolter closed her eyes briefly to collect herself, but she had to keep a close eye on the course of the transformation. She didn’t know if the dose was accurate, it had been an absolute guess, and she had to be ready to… do something. She didn’t know what she’d do if the dose turned out to be too high or too low. Something. The sheen between the woman’s legs was now dripping, trimmed pubic hair frosted wet, clitoris visible, protruding pink past the labia majora, clearly erect, with a little pulse visible now and again. Wet slick dripping down thighs that were already bulging powerful and still growing, a red flush across broadening shoulders and deepening chest and thick, corded neck, beautiful lips parted in shaky sighs and little half-muffled noises, nipples standing out hard atop small breasts, abdomen visibly clenching… 

 

Stolter bit her tongue to distract herself without letting the military guys know that she needed a distraction. Oh, good lord, this was insane. She was a scientist, for God’s sake.  _ Two  _ PhD’s. And a master’s. She could handle an attractive test subject. She could. She did not need to think so hard about what it would feel like to touch the woman while she was growing like this, what those swelling muscles would feel like under gloveless hands. She did not need to think about how the serum was affecting the woman’s less visible muscles, how hard that pussy could clench now— _ no.  _ She dragged her eyes up to the woman’s shoulders, noting the new slope of the trapezius, the roundness of the well-developed deltoid, and was immediately distracted by the woman’s pectorals beginning to bulge.

 

The abdominals were already well-defined, pouting out in smooth, rounded rows that followed the familiar feminine curve of the woman’s stomach, and that was impressive enough, but Stolter couldn’t help but shift her feet when the woman’s chest began to protrude. The growth was enough—Stolter was starting to think she had a bit of a kink, which was worth thinking about later—but the way they shifted and pulsed as they grew only exaggerated how they were making the breasts stand out further. They angled the breasts a bit more downward as they expanded, and as everything shifted, they  _ jiggled,  _ tit and pec alike. Stolter wanted to whine, and for a horrifying moment she thought she had, but it was the woman giving a soft, bitten-off little cry.

 

Then the vascularity started to fade, and Stolter panicked briefly before she realized that the growth wasn’t reducing, nor were the blood vessels being compressed by muscle development. No, this was… there was a thin layer of fat spreading from the injection sites. It was distributing itself oddly, definitely not a normal pattern, and Stolter had no idea why it was happening in the first place. The effect was undeniably pleasing, though. It wiped away the hyperdefinition, seemed to help the skin stretch over its new flesh, and it sort of… exaggerated things, gathering at places that were already heavy with muscle. The woman’s already-splendid ass expanded even further, and Stolter had to flex her own thighs to stop herself from pressing them together. The woman’s thighs were rippling smoothly, calves following, and powerful arms shifted uncomfortably in their bonds. God, she was absolutely ripped.

 

The woman arched her back, and for a second, Stolter thought she was seeing things. Focused examination revealed that she was not. Or rather, that she was seeing something real. She stared at the woman’s chest, well past embarrassment—the military guys were all behind her, anyway, they couldn’t see where she was looking—and watched with a wildly conflicting set of sensations as the woman’s breasts began to grow.

 

The woman was moaning constantly now, and swaying and shifting in the restraints, and her breasts moved with her. They had been small to begin with, and when her frame had grown, they had looked even smaller, but now they were catching up. Slowly, rather more slowly than the rest of her body, but they were most certainly growing. Stolter was biting her lip now, perhaps rather harder than she should have been, and her eyes were fixed in place. God, they were swelling round and heavy, drooping a little lower with each pulse of growth. They reached a size proportionate with the rest of the woman’s body, and then they grew more. Oh, they looked so full and heavy and squeezable. Stolter wanted nothing more than to press her face into them, mouth them, run her tongue along them, feel the gentle give beneath her fingers, knead the flesh, suck on those little pink nipples until her lips hurt… 

 

As she thought this, her attention shifted to the woman’s nipples, and she was in no state to be alarmed when they began to grow as well. They darkened, too, going a darker rose, then a purplish red, and then a comfortable brown, and they were as long as a fingertip, but plumper, rounder. The woman’s eyes were almost closed, her mouth moving in a constant stream of mumbled nonsense, her tongue occasionally sliding out from between her lips as if licking something that wasn’t there, her powerful body shifting and twisting. 

 

Oh, God, Stolter wanted to suck on her. Those tits were so absurdly inviting. They were flushed and sweaty and trembling, and they looked so heavy…  _ Keep growing,  _ the back of her mind urged them.  _ Keep going, swell and swell and swell until—  _

 

The woman’s clit, just visible past her labia, reddened and started to grow, and Stolter nearly lost it then and there when she realized what was happening.  _ Why?  _ the part of her that was trying to figure out what the hell was going on with her invention asked.  _ Where on earth are all these side effects coming from? Am I stimulating the pituitary gland somehow? Fat distribution shouldn’t be affected, nor should secondary sexual characteristics.  _ There was something profoundly unusual going on here, and she had no idea what it was.

 

_ Tits,  _ the ever more insistent part of her said succinctly.  _ Pussy.  _

 

Regardless of its reasons, the woman’s clit was the size of a thumbtip and growing quickly, in thick, heavy pulses. The hood was stretching over it, easily at first, and then, as the organ approached its second inch, growing ever girthier, with more difficulty.

 

It was beautiful, really. Stolter very much enjoyed giving oral, preferring to approach things with her mouth when at all possible. She liked to feel her way over and through people’s bodies with lips and tongue rather than fingers. She liked eating people out, she liked sucking on cock and tits and clits, and here this woman’s clit was becoming more suckable by the moment. So it shouldn’t have been any great surprise when Stolter shifted her weight a little and realized with a jolt that she was dripping wet, absolutely soaking, but she flinched anyway.  _ Oh God oh God oh God those fucking guys are right behind you you’re going to get fired.  _ The hood of the woman’s clit abruptly loosened, letting loose another inch of gorgeous, gorgeous clit, and Stolter wondered how it would feel in her mouth, throbbing, needy. Huge like that, the nerves were probably being spread out nicely, shouldn’t be oversensitive, so she could just  _ go  _ at it, suck fervently at its magnificent size, sink her hands into soft tits or muscular thighs or vast round ass, suck,  _ suck.  _

 

The woman’s pubic mound started to swell, too. And her labia. That incredible clit still outstripped them by far, but God, her whole pussy was following, growing like it was being pumped. Stolter had never used a pump on herself or anyone else, she didn’t spend her unfortunate salary on that sort of thing, but she’d seen videos, and while it didn’t look quite the same, she imagined that this was what it felt like. Just  _ growing,  _ bulging up thick and shiny and wet. There was something about being sucked so hard that you  _ grew  _ that made Stolter’s cunt clench. She resisted the urge to shift her weight again so soon. Oh, she could cup that pussy in both hands and it’d grow between her fingers, dripping slick all over her hands. And all the while, the woman’s clit continued to grow. It was the length of a thumb, now, and twice as thick, and it looked like it might burst.

 

Then, quite suddenly, it jerked, like any cock, and the woman  _ screamed.  _ She wasn’t a squirter, but Stolter knew a fucking orgasm when she saw one, and this one was incredible. The woman writhed in her bonds, muscles standing out like iron, round heavy tits and beautiful fat nipples shuddering, ass jiggling, her powerful chest heaving, and she screamed and screamed and screamed. It went on for wave after wave, and then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, and the woman sagged in her restraints. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. She looked utterly exhausted. Her sweat shone in the light.

 

Stolter stared at her for a few seconds, trying to control the spasms in her stomach and groin. Then she wrote something down in her notes, paying no attention to what it might be, and she turned to face the guy with the missing ear and the guards. The military police were geared up, so she couldn’t tell, but the guy with the missing ear was wearing a suit, and his flushed face and throat and his straining erection were very obvious. 

 

They looked at each other for a moment. Then Stolter said, in the most professional voice she could muster, “Excuse me, I’m just going to use the restroom,” and she strode past him quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more little side journey to go and then I can close the books on this thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you're tired and depressed and you know you really need to write something, so you start typing, and then you look at what you've written and it's just seven single-spaced pages of medical expansion smut.


End file.
